


Forty minutes, twenty-six seconds

by nahemaraxe (zephyrina)



Category: SCP Foundation, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - SCP Foundation, Drug Use, M/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephyrina/pseuds/nahemaraxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all fun and games until the zombie plague breaches containment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty minutes, twenty-six seconds

**ITEM AND OBJECT CLASS**

The alert blares when they’re in the middle of a high-profile meeting. Surprise, surprise, really. All the personnel seems to do these days is hitting one containment breach after another, and it always happens when Gabriel and his brothers start snorting up [gr]ACE in the suite room. _Aaaalways._

Fucking idiots.

“Aw, great,” Michael says. He’s lying on the desk, staring up at the glass ceiling. For some reason, Mike likes to watch the sky when he’s high, and Gabriel thinks it has something to do with him believing he can fly. After the 200 foot leap he almost took two years ago, they had to spend a small fortune in Michael-proofing every damn window in every damn facility they own. Worldwide.

Chances are Mike’s as much of an idiot as the Area-215 staff.

Gabriel pokes his finger into the heap of [gr]ACE Lucifer poured on a tray, then brings it to his lips and licks it. Above his head, the alert keeps blaring. _Containment breach,_ it screams. _Someone fucked up, something bad escaped. People are dying._

Well. People are gonna wait a goddamn minute, okay? At least until he gets his fix.

“If it’s another of Zach’s pet projects, I swear to God I’m going to shove him headfirst into SCP-002,” Raphael says. “Okay, let’s see what happened.”

Trust Raph to be the pragmatic one. He’s already tapping away on his tablet, trying to locate the breach. He’d look downright professional if it wasn’t for the smear of [gr]ACE next to his cheek. That, and the constipated expression he gets whenever he’s busy.

Gabriel glances toward Lucifer, and he’s sure the smirk on his brother’s face mirrors his own.

“They’re never gonna learn,” Luce says, kicking both feet on the desk. “Remind me why we didn’t just terminate everyone again?”

“Dunno, bro.” Gabriel shrugs. “If it were—”

“Can it, you two. Somebody’s trying to work here,” Raph says.

This time, both Gabriel and Lucifer don’t try to hide their snickering. Even Michael starts humming something (his agreement? The weather report? The National Anthem? Who the hell knows), which is a surefire way to piss their brother off.

“Cocksuckers,” Raph says, his eyes fixed on his tablet. “You’re— oh, _shit_.”

That sobers them up at once. Gabriel hears Luce asking, ‘What?’ and Mike saying, ‘It’s a Keter, isn’t it, oh mother _fucker_ ’, and he knows they’re all thinking about that stupid teddy bear. No one can tell how many copies of SCP-1048 are going around, but chances are they are many. Jesus. And Raphael is just sitting on his ass and gaping at the screen.

“So?” Gabriel snaps his fingers under Raph’s nose. “Spill, you moron.”

“008. Three breaches recorded so far, a dozen people affected, but there may be more.” Raphael rubs the back of his neck, shakes his head. “Containment rate is about thirty-five percent and dropping.”

For a few moments, no one says anything. Then, Lucifer stands up and slams his palms on the desk. [gr]ACE dust rises, settles.

“008. The zombie plague.” Luce laughs, and the hysterical tinge in his voice is something Gabriel can relate to. “They released the goddamn zombie plague. While we’re in _here_.”

“Our chopper can be ready in five, that’s a non-issue,” Michael says. He’s rolling over, his movements slow and careful. Any other time, someone ( _well, me,_ Gabriel thinks) would give him shit for it, but right now they all keep their mouth shut. Mike’s high as a kite, yep, and he’s also going to take control, fixing that mess before it blows in their face.

After all, there’s a reason why they didn’t let him take that leap.

“Contaminated Sectors?” he asks, sweeping up [gr]ACE from the tray. Luce and Raph follow suit: having honest-to-god zombies bouncing around the place requires some synthetic help.

“Uh, Four and Six,” Raphael says after he snorted his line. “They’re both sealed, standard security measures are ready to go. We can start irradiating the Sectors anytime, Mike.” And then, “Isn’t Four where the Feds were hanging around today?”

Gabriel’s breath catches.

_Sam._

Just a week ago, the kid told him about a planned training ( _but not when or where, Sam never said and Gabriel never asked_ ). He remembers teasing Sam about it ( _‘wow, your boss really wants you guys to look legit’_ ), and forgetting right away, too busy bending Sam over and wondering about doing that on the suite room desk. Maybe while his brothers watched. Maybe.

He grabs the edge of his chair and squeezes, but it’s leather and it doesn’t do anything to relieve the tension. Sam’s personnel, he tells himself. Sam’s part of a mobile task force, Sam’s trained to face containment breaches; Sam’s nothing more than a random fuck. A hot one, but just a fuck.

Okay. Okay.

Gabriel gets on his feet. “I’ll handle it,” he says. “Hold on every safety measure until I come back.”

His brothers blink - they do that in synch, and they’re so ridiculous Gabriel wishes he could take a picture - then they start pissing and moaning. Luce says, ‘no way, you idiot’ and ‘you’re fucking crazy’ and ‘it’s not worth it, Gabe, do you wanna die?’. Mike says, ‘we pay people to go out and fix that shit’ and ‘we just make the calls now, it’s not up to us anymore’. Raph grabs his sleeve instead, and says, ‘If SCP-008 breached the containment, we’ve got to irradiate and incinerate the area. And we can’t come close to any artifact, Gabe, it’s protocol. For fuck’s sake, you wrote the damn thing’.

And they’re right. Goddamn it, they’re right. 

+

Eighteen minutes later, Gabriel’s punching his personal code into the elevators keypad. He has a gun in his hand, [gr]ACE sticking to his fingers, and five pills of the Fucking Fab Cure-All SCP-500 in his shirt pocket. He also has forty-five minutes left to find Sam. Forty-five minutes before the security system switches on automatic and incinerate their ass.

++

**SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES**

Protocol dictates that _‘in event of a containment breach, every access to a sealed Sector has to be guarded by no less than a team of four (4) guards’._ So, when Gabriel reaches Sector Four and sees just one lonely dude standing there, he breathes in relief. One he can handle; four, well. That would have posed a bit of a problem.

He sends a silent thanks to Raphael and draws close, keeping the gun flat against his thigh.

In theory, he can do pretty much what he wants, when he wants, where he wants. Perks of being a O5 Council member. In practice, nobody knows who Gabriel is. He’s O5-04 to Site Directors, _‘Sir’_ (with a yes or no tacked in if he asks questions) to officials and researchers, and he’s _‘Hey, G’_ to Sam. That’s it. He can’t blame the guard for maintaining his position. To him, Gabriel could be a class D guy. A janitor. The ice cream man.

“Sir, you need—”

Gabriel raises his gun and fires.

Forty minutes, twenty-six seconds.

+

The door leading to Sector Four unlocks by itself. Before stepping inside, he looks at the security camera that hangs from the ceiling and gives it a thumbs up.

“Welcome, you idiot.” Lucifer’s voice filters through the ear piece just fine. “Get moving, we don’t have all day.”

“Pushy,” Gabriel replies.

+

Once the door clicks shut behind him and the electric field is reinstated, Gabriel’s on his own. His brothers are still able to follow him via cam, tamper with locks and override the security system, but they can’t back him up like they used to. Those times are gone.

Besides, he’s rusty. Last time Gabriel was in active combat was five years ago.

“Corridor’s clear,” Luce says. “Three people in the hall, not moving. Well, not much. Oh and by the way, thirty-eight minutes.”

“Roger that,” Gabriel answers, and the muffled snickering he hears then makes him feel better. A little bit.

+

The three-people-down-the-hall-not-moving-much-haha are beyond salvation. That’s not a news, given the level of infectiousness and lethality of SCP-008. What’s odd - _what’s goddamn wrong, Jesus_ \- are the bite marks they sport.

Gabriel double checks after putting them out of their misery (and he does it only after he double checked on them not being Sam. Shooting the kid would kinda defeat the point of his little sortie, and if that makes him the King of Double Checking on Obvious Stuff, so be it).

Yep, bite marks. Some chunks are missing, too. But how’s that possible, for fuck’s sake?

Lucifer sounds just as puzzled as Gabriel feels.

“Got no clue, Gabe,” he tells him. “Mike and Raph are on it right now, but it’s fucked up. It’s too early for people to start chewing on each other.”

“I know that.” It comes off harsher than Gabriel meant. He’s not sorry. “Still, that’s what happened. Zoom in and see for yourself.”

He gets up and readjusts his ear piece. Luce is talking again, and in the background, Raph’s going on about prions and mutations and whatever. Gabriel is only half-listening, though. If someone has already turned, then he’s in deep, deep shit.

Thirty-one minutes, forty-five seconds.

+

Thirty minutes, twelve seconds.

As he rounds a corner, Gabriel almost slips on a pool of blood and vomit. A few feet from it, there’s a human finger.

Up ahead, past the couple of steps that lead to the testing area, he hears footsteps drawing closer and then fading again. Clattering. Screams.

Gabriel chews on his inner cheek and wishes for the tray of [gr]ACE he left in the suite room.

+

Thirty minutes, seven seconds.

Something crashes behind a door to his left. Someone starts screaming half a beat later. It’s a male voice.

_Sam?_

Gabriel’s fingers tighten around the gun, smearing [gr]ACE dust over it, but no, it’s not Sam. It’s not. Sam’s somewhere in here; hiding or trying to help or holding infected people at gunpoint, but he’s not the one screaming himself hoarse inside that office.

Gabriel’s grip relaxes.

Thirty minutes, four seconds. He needs to hurry. Lucifer agrees.

+

She takes him by surprise, body-slamming into his side while he checks into yet another room.

“Please! Help me!” is what she probably means to say. What she does say is a garble of words, sobs, and gasps.

It’s hard to talk while half your face is spattered on your lab coat.

“Hey!” Gabriel grabs her by her wrist and shakes her, careful to angle her so that he doesn’t come in contact with any body fluid. Her eyes (her _eye_ ) snap up to him. They’re wide and unfocused. “Breathe, okay?” he says. “Nice and slow, yeah, it’s all right.”

“Help. Please, oh God, help me—”

“Yes, sure.” Gabriel smiles. He keeps his tone as soothing as possible. “Help’s coming, but I need you to calm down. Can you do that? For me?”

If she doesn’t, then he’ll have to shoot her right away, and—

_“Jesus Christ, Gabriel, there’s no fucking time to play nurse!”_

Luce’s talking-shouting in his ear, but he doesn’t listen. “Okay, like this. It’s fine—” her name tag has blood on it, he can make up only a few letters. _Dr. W-k_ , part of an _e_. A capital _M_ , what looks like an _a_. “It’s fine, Mary,” he tries. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

_“Gabe, fucking listen to me!”_

“We’re organizing the rescue,” Gabriel goes on. “You’ll be treated and everything’s gonna go back to normal, but first I need to know about the Feds. There was a group of Feds in here today. Where are they?”

“I… I…” Mary reaches up, touches her hair. “My face, he bit— he bit me, my face—”

“The Feds, Mary. Where are the Feds?”

She swallows. “They… they—”

Gabriel nods, resisting the urge to scream at her. “Where, Mary? I want to help.”

“One got bitten, it was—” she shakes her head, and blood flies everywhere. Some ends on his shirt, right on his breast pocket. Inside, the pills rattle in their box. “Everyone screamed and there was so much blood—”

“Yes, okay. I’m looking for a tall guy, big shoulders, dark hair. You seen him?”

Mary stares. “Hall. The big hall, with, with— tables, and— my face, please…”

“We’ll fix it,” Gabriel says, and he’s already starting to steer her toward the direction she came. He’d rather not shoot her while she watches, he wants her to go believing she’d be treated, fixed, saved. It’s the only mercy he’s able to spare now.

“You promise?” Blood and tears and snot roll down her cheeks. “My face—”

“I promise.”

Twenty-four minutes, six seconds, Gabriel takes Mary down.

++

**DESCRIPTION**

He sees one of the _(zombies)_ infected people first, and Sam next.

(“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Lucifer mutters)

Twenty-one minutes sharp, and the bullet that kills the zombie may either come from Gabriel’s gun or from Sam’s.

+

Twenty minutes, fifty-seven seconds.

There are three Feds in the mess hall. One is Sam; one is Gabriel’s cousin, Castiel; one is Whatshisname. Gabriel and Whatshisname headbutted once or twenty in the past, and Gabriel sometimes wondered about locking him in with SCP-173. For science. Now, it seems that there’s no need to bother SCP-173 after all. Whatshiname is on the floor, having a seizure in a puddle of Coke and blood, smack right in the middle of it. Sam and Cas look unharmed, but the guy is a goner.

Oh, well.

Gabriel walks straight toward him, his gun raised. He’s about to shoot (bye bye, Whatshisname) when Sam shifts and block his line of fire.

“No,” Sam says. Kid’s shaking his head, his own gun held low, but he’s got his finger curled around the trigger, twitching, and that’s one hell of a _but_. Gabriel doesn’t need Luce’s warning to get it.

“Bucko, he’s as good as dead,” Gabriel says (trying for reasonable, kind, even if he can’t play diplomat for shit and there’s no time, damn it, twenty minutes and a handful of seconds left, he should just grab Sam and Cas and blow that joint, he should, he should—), “It’s better if—”

“I said no.”

Castiel steps in. “Sir, that’s Dean,” he says. He must notice the blank expression on Gabriel’s face then, because he clarifies, “Sam’s brother.”

_Oh. Oh, fuck me._

The low whistle in Gabriel’s ear piece tells him that Lucifer shares the sentiment. “Talk about protocol breach, uh? Raph’s gonna have kittens. Cute, tiny kittens,” Luce says. Gabriel ignores him and Cas both, turns to Sam again.

“Brother. He’s your brother. Okay, great, whatever. You two all right?”

“Couple scratches each,” Sam says, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter. What are you—”

“Doesn’t matter? _Doesn’t matter?_ Is dementia kicking in already?” Gabriel takes a deep breath, then fishes the pills box out of his pocket. “One each. Don’t ask, just take it.”

But of course, Castiel’s eyes go wide when he catches the box with his left hand. “Is it…?”

“Yes, yes, it is. The Big Fixer, from scrapes to AIDS, we cure ‘em all,” Gabriel says. “Could you, like, speed up the process a little now? We’ve got—”

_“Nineteen minutes and twenty-one seconds, bro.”_

“—right, nineteen minutes to get the hell outta here. We can ohh and ahh and piss our pants later.”

Sam looks straight at him for a moment, then nods.

+

They’re down to two pills, sixteen minutes, and one spare magazine left between the three of them when the power goes out.

One moment they’re running through a corridor, Sam carrying Dean while Gabriel and Castiel clear the way, and the next everything goes pitch black.

“Luce, you hear me?” Gabriel half-shouts, but no answer comes. Just the cracks and pops of static.

+

Gabriel can’t keep track of time anymore. They could have fifteen minutes, or nine, or two - fuck it, they can be down to the very last seconds and he _doesn’t know._ The link with his brothers has been cut off, and he can’t find his way out like this, not when he can’t see where he’s going, not when he can’t tell what’s coming, who or what he’s shooting down. He slams his fist against the wall, taking a moment to savor the pain traveling up his arm, then he reaches out. There’s air, air, metal, slick-wet fabric, and finally flesh.

“…G?”

“Right here.” Gabriel breathes in, aware of Sam’s own breathing, and Cas’, and Dean’s wheezing. “Listen up: the emergency gen should kick in anytime. We keep going until then, back to the wall, and ears open.”

“There should be just one of the infected people left, sir,” Castiel says. “Fully infected, I mean.”

“And you know that how?” Gabriel asks.

A rustle of fabric to his left, then, “I overheard one of the scientists talking about two test subjects breaching containment. Unauthorized tests, I believe.”

Gabriel grits his teeth. “Damn right they were unauthorized.” He swallows and rubs a hands on his face. “Let’s go.”

+

Temporary blindness doesn’t make them deaf. If anything, they can hear every step, every scream, every cry for help, and every gunshot with astounding clarity.

A handful of minutes, another handful of seconds. Maybe.

+

Gabriel hears the growl (too close, too close, _waytooclose_ ), then pain flares, bright and white and hot. He recoils, staggers backward, _fuckfuckhurtsfuck_ , and then a greenish light is flooding the place and Lucifer’s screaming his name into his ear, and then—

Then. Then there’s red, teeth, a body (Mary, is that Mary) on the floor; the air reeks of blood and shit and vomit, and someone _(SamLuceMikeRaphSamSamSam)_ won’t stop repeating ‘Gabe’ as if they’re praying, and he lifts his arm and fires twice, thrice, until the only sound left is the click-click-click of his empty gun.

Gabriel blinks. The inside of his mouth tastes like copper.

He’s got hands on him, grabbing, steadying, rubbing up and down his shoulders. Taking off his ear piece. “‘M all rite,” he says, batting those hands away. “Gonna be—”

Sam says, “Sure,” but he’s looking down, to the front of Gabriel’s shirt. It’s ripped open, the fabric torn and wet. His breast pocket, where he stashed the pills, flaps against his chest.

“Three minutes, fourteen seconds,” Castiel says.

+

One minute, seven seconds.

The door is right there. The door is right there. The door is—

++

**ADDENDUM**

**Incident Report 145**

**SCP involved:** SCP-008

**Date:** ██/██/████

**Location:** Area ██

**Description:** Location [DATA EXPUNGED], Sector Four and Six.

[DATA EXPUNGED] SCP-008 breached containment after [DATA EXPUNGED]. The whole facility [DATA EXPUNGED] of evacuation, while standard containment procedure was set in place for the affected Sectors. Twelve members of the staff [DATA EXPUNGED] from Sector Six, [DATA EXPUNGED] from Sector Four. Four [DATA EXPUNGED] (three Mobile Task Force Iota-10 members, one [DATA EXPUNGED]) were rescued before the irradiation procedure would start. As of [DATA EXPUNGED], they have been deemed fit for duty again.

**Addendum 145-01:** [DATA EXPUNGED] Council Member O5-04, ‘whoever tries to perform unauthorized tests again will join the [DATA EXPUNGED] tracking down SCP-682 and act as live bait. I fucking mean it, you bunch of [REDACTED].’ (verbatim).

**Author's Note:**

> Giveaway fic for Theheartofatrickster. My prompt was ‘sabriel angst: zombie AP’ as prompt. Lovely, right? Someone after my own heart ;) So I grabbed it, stared a little at this awesome SortaTerribleLife!Gabriel by artmetica, threw it all into the SCP Foundation setting, shook and stirred. Ta-daah.
> 
> Many thanks to thatgorgeousarchangel and wordssometimesfail for the beta job, and to V for holding my hand through this.


End file.
